


Anger Management

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-28
Updated: 2006-09-14
Packaged: 2019-01-19 17:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12414897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: A bitter and angry Hermione is alienating her friends.  An out-of-control Draco nearly loses his job.  These are merely the circumstances that force a chance meeting in the most unlikely of places… and lead to the beginnings of… Anger Management.  D/Hr, post-Hogwarts, HBP spoilers.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Anger Management by RahNee**

**Author Note and Dedication:**   A very long time ago, my dear friend and beta, Lorett, was bugging me to write a Draco/Hermione story.  Here is how that first conversation went:

**RahNee:** Ronnie walks cautiously to the open ocean that is Dramione and 

carefully dips her big toe into the water. It's scary, and very deep out there.  

She slowly slaps on the SCUBA gear...

checks the regulator…

air in the tank?

Yep…

fins on?

Yep…

**Lorett:** (chuckling)

**RahNee:** mask?

**Lorett:** COME ON, you can't be THAT scared.

**RahNee:** snorkel?  shark repellant?

**Lorett:** I just plunged right in; best way to handle a big, chilly pool.

Then, once you're in you see it's a lot warmer than you thought.

Shark repellant!  LOL

You can sit in my dingy, darling, I've got room.

**RahNee:** I need my weight belt... to sink below the dross of all the CRAPPY Dramione out there.

**Lorett:** No kidding!

**RahNee:** OK, I’m ready to plunge in.

**Lorett:** GA!  TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH. 

**RahNee:** I know.  (smacking my head)  Like I NEED to be working on another story!

She has been haranguing me on a regular basis ever since.  Little did she know; I had a brilliant idea for a birthday present for her!  So I have been penning this story in secret, telling little white lies to my beta (“No, Lorett dear, I didn’t get _anything_ worthwhile written this weekend.”),  feverishly hoping to get at least the first chapter done in time to post it for her birthday on July 20.  Please forgive any mistakes.  I couldn’t very well have Lorett beta it for me and keep it a surprise!

**So without further ado; Lorett lovey, I dedicate this, my first D/Hr story, to you.  Thanks for all your love, friendship and support.  And for riding my sorry arse until I wrote this!  I love you.  Happy Birthday, darling!**

**____________________________________________________________________**

**Anger Management**

**Chapter One**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowling’s brilliant characters or anything you find in the HP universe.  Any characters, etiquette books, coffee shops, side streets off of Diagon Alley, or other places, people and things that you do not find in JKR’s works, well then you can safely assume they are mine.**

**\----- -----**

THIS WAY TO ANGER MANAGEMENT CLASS read the block letter sign posted in the foyer of the largest wizarding public library in Britain, which was located just off of Diagon Alley, of course, not far from Gringotts Bank.  The cheery lighting in the lobby offset the gloom of the descending night outside, but did nothing for the mood of the man who was apparently attempting to burn a hole in said sign with just the power of his glare.  

He considered for a fraction of a moment, in a flash of the rebellious spirit that had defined his youth, just turning around and walking out.  But it would be to no avail.  He knew he’d be back, so what was the point of delaying the inevitable?  His friends had been hammering at him to go for ages… (and once again he found himself amazed that he still even had some friends, considering…) especially since that fiasco with Catherine (Katerina?  Caroline?).  He knew without them telling him that he was damned lucky she hadn’t pressed charges, damned lucky that the only injuries she’d suffered were the finger marks he’d left on her arms.  

Even then, there had been a niggling thought, delicately scraping away in the back of his mind that he was out of control, but hell if he was going to admit he had a problem.  Never mind that he was unable to sustain a romantic relationship for long, or that most of the people he worked with gave him a very wide berth.  Unfortunately, it took a series of events happening in quick succession to bring him to the point that he was ready to admit that Draco Malfoy was not the “in-control bloke” he thought he was.  

Actually, it took the trip to St. Mungo’s for treatment for his completely shattered hand, to be specific.  It wasn’t until he was sitting in an exam room, in excruciating pain, waiting for an interminably long time for the Healer to come and mend his bones that he began to really examine his life and the explosions of anger that seemed to mark the passing of time for him.  This was how he discovered that introspection, deep gut-wrenching introspection, took one’s mind off of pain.

Since it was the Director of Magical Law Enforcement’s office door he had put his fist through, he was now on administrative leave, and he could not return to work until he’d completed a third of the Anger Management Class.  “Damn it, Malfoy,” Kingsley Shacklebolt had thundered as he tossed Draco’s employee file across the desk, “you’re my best man in magical forensics, but you have enough ‘incidences’ here in your file to rival the rap sheets of our repeat offenders!  I’m forced to put you on leave for one month.  Prove to me you are getting yourself some help, for Merlin’s sake.  We need you here.”  Shacklebolt had glared at him through the hole in his door as Draco left.

He turned abruptly from the sign and made his way down the hall.  He had no choice; he had to go through with it.  Twelve sessions.  Once a week for twelve weeks.  Three months of—

_Hello._

Draco was not the earliest arrival it seemed.  As he entered the classroom from the door in the back, he saw a woman sitting in the middle of the classroom, her back to him.  Draco’s eyes widened in appreciation; she was well dressed, and a thick plait of rich brown hair had been twisted into a knot at the base of her skull.  Her neck was slender and fair, her right leg was crossed over the left showing off a navy blue pump and a shapely calf above it.  Her head was bent over the book she was reading.

Sitting in the middle was a rather strategic maneuver, Draco thought; sitting in the back row or in the very front tended to draw attention to oneself, but people in the middle seemed to blend into each other when one looked out over a room.  Draco decided to emulate his classmate’s strategy, but instead of sitting next to her, he chose the seat directly behind her.  He wasn’t in the mood to make small talk as they waited for the rest of the class to arrive, but he suspected that later on he would appreciate being able to rest his eyes on her pleasing form, especially if the class proved as boring as he suspected it would.  

He’d already flipped open his copy of the evening edition of the _Daily Prophet_ by the time the brunette even registered someone had taken the seat behind her, so when she turned, she was met with the latest headlines.  Taking the hint, she shrugged and returned to her book.  

Punctuality was a hallmark of Hermione Granger.  She hated being late, so she always left early for any appointment, and allowed herself plenty of time to get to places she hadn’t been before.  She professed that the reason for this was simple common courtesy; tardiness was a sign of disrespect, a statement that one did not value the other person’s time.  Harry said that really, extreme punctuality was her way of trying to exert control over her situation.  Hermione wondered if Harry knew what an ass he sounded like when he was spouting psychobabble.  What did he know?  The prat!  Well, he _was_ the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s top profiler, which meant he’d studied criminal psychology, but that hardly pertained to Hermione!

Of course, Harry had also pointed out that she was slowly becoming isolated from her friends, and it was only the dedicated few who stuck by her now, due to her “moody temperament” which was Harry’s polite code phrase he used in public.  In private, he called it her “bitter bitchiness” or “BB” for short.   The sodding git.  And was it really necessary for him to point out that the BB was probably the reason she ran through boyfriends like water ran through pantyhose? 

It wasn’t until the complete blow-out with Ginny that Hermione was willing to admit that Harry might be right.  Hermione had been in serious danger of losing her only remaining girl friend, so one Kleenex box and three pints of Ben & Jerry’s later, she had swallowed her pride, flooed Ginny and asked for the information about the anger management class Ginny had been nagging her to attend for the last year and a half.  Ginny had hugged her.  When she’d told Harry she had signed up for the class, he’d hugged her too, and told her he was glad because “I just don’t want to keep watching my Hermione slipping away anymore.”  That had made her cry.  She hated to cry; it felt too unnerving, being so out of control like that.  Damn him for making her cry.

So here she was, in an over-lit library classroom that was rapidly filling with people who were quite likely ticking time bombs of repressed anger like herself.  She snorted; she sounded like an ass when she spouted psychobabble, too.  

A flurry of activity at the front of the classroom indicated the instructor had arrived; the witch in green healer’s robes began to unpack a satchel.  Hermione heard the rustle of a newspaper being folded behind her followed by a rich, cultured, sotto voice, “Thus begins what will be the most boring two hours of my life.”

Hermione chuckled as she put away her book, and turned around to smile at her classmate who was apparently reading her mind.  “Legilimency without eye contact is quite a skill to have, but you read my…” Her mouth dropped open in recognition as she realized just who it was sitting behind her.  “Oh my…”

Draco smirked, and to Hermione’s surprise, his eyes lit up with amusement and not malice.  “I think I need to amend my last statement.  This class just got _very_ interesting!”

\----- -----

Hermione moved with the rest of her classmates toward the door.  She could see the tall, blond form of Malfoy up ahead.  When she finally exited the library doors, she noticed he was standing on the steps, making no move to leave while the rest of the attendees were scurrying off or Apparating.  She stepped closer to him.  “Aren’t you going home?” she asked.

He turned to look at her.  “I’m not sure,” he replied.  “Don’t feel much like going home yet.  I was thinking of maybe going to get a cup of coffee.”

“Oh.”  To be honest, she didn’t feel much like going home to her empty flat, either.  Still… she had to get up and go to work tomorrow… “Well, goodnight, then,” she said politely.  “I suppose I will see you next week.”  She turned to go.

“Would you care to join me, Granger?” he called after her.  He wasn’t exactly sure why he did, except that she had seemed a little reluctant to go home, too.  He hadn’t expected to know anyone in the class, and granted, he and Granger didn’t have the best history together… but she had been a familiar face and somehow he’d felt a little less, well, less lonely when he’d realized it was her sitting in front of him.  Besides, if the smartest, most-together girl in his class at Hogwarts was stuck sitting in this god-forsaken anger management class, then maybe _he_ wasn’t as much of a failure as he was beginning to feel he was…

She turned back to him with a puzzled expression.  “Join you?”

“Yes, join me.  For coffee.”

She looked skeptical.  “This late at night?”

He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at her.  “They do make coffee without the caffeine, you know.”  He was sure now that she wouldn’t take him up on the offer, and he really couldn’t blame her.  After all, who would want to have coffee with the person who was an insufferable prat all through their secondary education days?

She studied him a few seconds longer.  “All right.  Where do you suggest?”

Draco blinked in surprise.  “Well, there is a quaint little shop up here a ways on Eatern Alley.  They stay open late…”  Did she really just agree to go with him?

_Did I really just agree to go with him?_   Hermione wondered.  He pointed the way and politely took her elbow to help her across the street.

Soon Draco was holding the door open for her and gesturing her inside.  “Thank you, Malfoy,” she said as she stepped into something straight out of a Muggle movie.  The shop reminded her of an old Fifties diner in décor and atmosphere.  She half-expected a bubble-gum chewing teenaged waitress to glide over to them on roller skates, but instead they were greeted by a friendly older woman who told them to take whatever table they wanted.  _If she tells us her name is ‘Flo,’ I will know that I’ve slipped into an alternate reality,_ Hermione thought to herself.

Draco led her to a booth near the back, out of sight from the widows, but with a view of the entrance.  _It must be an Auror thing,_ she mused.  _Harry does the exact same thing in a restaurant._ Draco took her cloak and placed it carefully next to his on the booth bench.  She slid into the booth across from him.  The kindly woman came over.  “What can I get you, dears?”

Draco made a point to look at her name tag.  “Well, Flo, we’d each like a cup of coffee, decaffeinated, please.”  He looked at Hermione inquiringly to see if she agreed.  She nodded, stifling a giggle.  When the waitress had left, he asked, “What’s so amusing?”

“Oh, it’s this place,” she looked around with a grin.  “It really is quaint, as you said.  It’s quite cute.”  Her eyes landed on his face.  His lips were turned up amusedly.  “It’s not really the kind of place I’d ever expect to see you in; it’s so, well, Muggle.”  The words slipped out before she realized how they might sound to him.  She was relieved to see that the expression on his face didn’t change.

“One of the things they taught us in Auror training, Granger: don’t be too predictable.”  

Flo returned with the coffee.  “Cream or sugar, dears?”

“Cream for me, please,” Hermione requested.

“I’ll take mine black, thanks,” Draco gave the waitress a charming smile.  

They sipped for half a minute before Draco said, “So, I hear you’re a barrister.”  Hermione nodded.  “Working for the Ministry?”

She nodded again.  “I’m helping draft new laws regarding Muggles and non-wizard magical folk,” she explained.  “I also do pro bono defense work on the side.”

He pursed his lips.  “I know how busy you must be, with the Ministry’s big push to make up for years of under-representation and disregard of any non-wizard race.”  A look of irritation crossed his aristocratic features.  “Those laws are just slapped on the books, without any regard as to how they will actually work in the real world.  It creates nightmares for the DMLE, and then each problem is sent back to the Ministry for review, the law is deemed ineffective, and the process just has to start all over again.  How many times, for example, have you people had to rewrite the Werewolf Act?”

“I suppose you feel that it’s all a big waste of time?  That there shouldn’t be protections for non-wizard people at all?” she retorted hotly.  “I should have known…”

“Granger, Granger, that’s not what I meant!”  Draco held out his hands apologetically.  “I wasn’t criticizing.  Certainly we need laws for all type of folk.  I was merely pointing out how inefficient the system is. It must get very frustrating for you.”

She looked chagrined.  “Oh.”  She took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry I jumped down your throat like that.”

He regarded her for a few moments as he sipped his coffee.  “You’re still easy to wind up, Granger.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but let out her breath instead.  “Apparently I’m _too easy_ to wind up.  At least, according to my friends.  Which explains why I’m in that damned anger management class.  They insisted I go,” she said quietly.

“Ah,” he acknowledged, nodding his head.  They sipped in silence.

It was Hermione’s turn to make small talk.  “Harry tells me that you work in the forensics department…”

“Right.”  Draco wondered just how much Potter had told her about him.

“So, uh… why did you choose forensics?” she queried.

Draco shrugged, a little uncomfortably.  “I have a hip injury that kept me from meeting the running requirements for a field officer… and I tend to be able to stomach magical autopsies and examination of corpses better than most.”  

Her brows were knit together in a puzzled frown.  “But I seem to recall that in school you were quite—oh!” She clapped a hand over her mouth, rather aware that she was being insensitive…again.

Draco’s visage darkened.  “Quite what?  Which word did you have in mind, Granger: wussy, wimpy, namby-pamby, milquetoast?”

“I’m sorry!” she gasped.  “I didn’t mean…”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm himself.  When he looked up, she was sitting with her hand still over her mouth, almost as if she was afraid what would come out if she let go.  She looked quite comical.  He snorted and raised an eyebrow sardonically.  “I really don’t think Miss Amelia Poster lists ‘mention a childhood aversion to the sight of blood’ as one of the ways to chat up an old school acquaintance in her latest edition of _Wizarding Etiquette for All Occasions_.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she dropped her gaze to the table to regain her composure.  She took a deep breath and looked up at him again.  “I have to apologize, Malfoy.  Apparently I stopped reading the book before I got to that particular chapter.”  A hint of a smile played at her lips.

He clicked his tongue at her.  “Granger.”  He shook his head sadly.  “You are a terrible liar.  Anyone who knows you even slightly would never believe that you would leave a book unfinished.  It’s inconceivable.”  His jaw twitched like he was trying not to smirk.

Her eyes crinkled as she smiled and said, “Touché, Malfoy.”

Silence descended again, as the impudent expression slowly melted off his face.  He wasn’t sure what prompted him, but finally he said softly, “I saw enough things in the… uh, the… you know…” he faltered a moment, “enough to make the sight of blood the least of the things I could be squeamish about.”  He shrugged.  “I guess I can just detach myself from it now.”  His eyes shifted quickly to hers, then back down to his coffee cup, as if he feared he’d said too much, or feared she’d ask him to explain.

All she said was, “Oh,” very quietly.  He heard the sympathy in her voice.  They were treading dangerously close to deeply painful topics, and Hermione seemed to sense that, for she didn’t say anything else.

“You know,” said Draco, breaking the awkward tension, “they have a rather tasty selection of pie here.  Would you like a slice?”

“Oh, no… I couldn’t, really,” Hermione declined.

Draco lifted his hand to wave over the waitress.  “Have you any apple pie tonight, Flo?”

The older woman smiled indulgently.  “Of course we do, dear.  Warmed, or not?  One slice or two?”

“One slice, warmed, please.”

Hermione frowned.  “Malfoy, I said I didn’t…”

“Relax, Granger.  This is for me.”  His eyes gave her the once-over.  “Although I don’t think one little slice is going to ruin your girlish figure.”

“It has nothing to do with my figure, and everything to do with too much sugar keeping me up tonight.  I have to work tomorrow, you know,” she said, a little snappishly.

Draco shrugged.  “I don’t.  I’m on administrative leave until I complete one month of this damnable class.”

“Oh,” Hermione cocked her head.  “So what are you going to do with yourself, then?”

He lifted one shoulder elegantly.  “I don’t really know.  Catch up on some reading, take a few walks, drink disgusting amounts of firewhiskey, visit a few friends…”  Hermione’s eyebrows shot up at his last comment.  “What?  You think I don’t have friends?”

Hermione managed a reasonably innocent expression.  “I didn’t say anything!”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  “Uh huh.  Your eyes did.”  A small grin appeared.  “You have very expressive eyes, you know.”  Hermione was obviously nonplussed.  _Did I just say that?  Where did that come from?_   Draco was glad that Flo chose that moment to place a warm piece of apple pie in front of him.  He picked up his fork with alacrity and took a bite.

Hermione watched him eat, thinking that this all seemed rather surreal.  Here she was, with Draco Malfoy of all people, and they were having a rational and mostly civil conversation!  The situation was, suffice to say, a little awkward, in the way that first dates were awkward—

She stopped mid-thought.  _Where in the world did **that** come from?_   She shook her head.  “This evening is turning out nothing like I thought it would.”  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized she’d spoken out loud.

Draco glanced at her.  “I know what you mean.  Just look at this,” he waved his fork back and forth between them.  “Who’d have ever thought that you and I would be here, together,” and his eyes took on a little mischievous sparkle, “sharing a piece of pie.”  He pushed his plate toward her suggestively.

“Oh, all right.”  She picked up her fork and dug in.  “Mmmm… you were right!  This is delicious.”

“You didn’t believe me?”

She placed her hand over her heart.  “I will never doubt again.”  

And they both laughed.

_______________________________________________________________________________

**A/N:  Well… there you have it.  I anticipate it will be about 6 chapters, give or take a few.  So if any of you fair readers enjoyed this story, or even if you did not, I would love to hear your opinions.  And if any of you caught references to one of my favorite movies and can tell me which one it is, you will be listed in my hall of fame!**

**Review, review, review!**


	2. Chapter Two

**Anger Management**

**Chapter Two**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowling’s brilliant characters or anything you find in the HP universe.  Any characters, street vendors, coffee shops, side streets off of Diagon Alley, intriguingly named pubs, or other places, people and things that you do not find in JKR’s works, well then you can safely assume they are mine.**

_______________________________________________________________________________

_Week 3_

Draco was waiting on the steps of the library after class.  Hermione hesitated for a moment; was he waiting for her?  Sure, they had gone out to coffee again after last week’s class, but they weren’t going to make a regular habit of it, were they?  The thought of not winding down the night as pleasantly as they had the last two weeks left her with a slightly empty ache that she would have to analyze later, for Draco had asked her something.

“What?”

Draco glanced sideways at her and raised a brow.  “I said: shall we make it a third time for good measure?”

Hermione smiled at him and noted, “The third time’s the charm.”

Once again, he gently took her elbow as they crossed the street.  In no time, they were back at the quaint coffee shop.

“Hello, dears,” Flo greeted them warmly, and waved them to their booth.  She appeared moments later with two cups of coffee.  “Decaf for you both,” she smiled.

“Thanks, Flo,” Hermione grinned at the kind woman, before glancing across the table at her companion.  The look on his face could only be described as petulant.  “What’s gotten your knickers in a twist?” she asked him.

“I can not believe she gave us homework!” Draco fumed as he absently drummed his fingers against his coffee cup.

“Oh Malfoy, quit grousing!  It will be a very helpful exercise, I’m sure!”

He eyed Hermione suspiciously.  “You can’t possibly be glad about this, can you, Granger?  Because if you are, you are completely barmy.”

She rolled her eyes at him as she stirred cream into her coffee.  “Of course I’m not happy about this!  As if I didn’t have enough to do already, with work and all.  I’m just saying, if I’m going to have to suffer the humiliation of being forced to go to this class, well, I might as well get something useful out of it.”

Draco sipped his coffee and gave her a long, measured look over the rim of his cup.  “It still amazes me that you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw.”

She waved his comment aside.  “Besides, it’s not like it will be hard or anything.  I can think of plenty of things that trigger my anger.”

“Oh, so you think this will be easy, do you?  All right,” he challenged, “make your list.” 

“Fine!  Waiting in slow-moving lines.   Getting interrupted.  When someone bumps into me and doesn’t have the courtesy to say ‘sorry.’”

Draco nodded in agreement.  “Rudeness.  Rudeness is definitely one for me.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose and she snorted, but she continued, “I can’t stand being condescended to.  And when people try to get me to talk about the bloody war…”  She stopped and glanced at him, aware she was once again moving toward a touchy topic.  He merely continued to bob his head in concurrence with what she was saying.

Encouraged, she persisted, “I can’t tolerate prejudice, thoughtlessness, husbands who cheat on their wives and vice-versa, cruelty to non-wizarding folk or animals.  I am angry that there are orphans and widows, that women are expected to wear stockings, which are uncomfortable I feel I should point out, and that there will always be men who will think that I can’t think for myself.”

Draco was looking at her, one eyebrow lifted and a look of slight consternation on his face.  “Is that it?  Because, I don’t think it would be healthy if you held anything back, Granger.”

She wrinkled her nose at him.  “I am completely brassed off when I see shoddy workmanship or half-assed effort.  And  when, when…” She was distracted by the amusement she saw in his grey eyes.  The look on his face was almost… affectionate.  She lost track of what she was going to say next.  “Uh, and, uh, by the demise of the adverb,” she finished lamely.

“The what?”  Draco’s voice held a note of incredulity.

Hermione’s cheeks pinked slightly.  “The demise of the adverb… you know… the use of ‘real’ instead of ‘really’ as in ‘You look real nice’ instead of ‘You look really nice.’”

Draco stared at her.  “THAT is a hot-button for you?  Misuse of adverbs?”

She looked a bit sheepish.  “Well, it doesn’t really make me fly off the handle so much as irritate me…”

“Oh, well in _that_ case, if we are going to get started on a list of _irritants_ … I hope you have all week, Granger!”

Hermione grinned.  “I hope you have all _month_ , Malfoy!”

“Right.  We’d best stick to the incendiary triggers, then… that way we’ll be out of here by dawn.”

_______________________________________________________________________________

_Week 4_

Hermione was getting ready for work when she remembered that her late meeting with the Assistant to the Minister of Magic was going to cut into her time to get dinner before her anger management class that night.  _Better tuck a sandwich or something into your bag; you don’t want to be late for your class, Hermione,_ she told herself.  She looked into the mirror.  Would it be such a terrible tragedy if she was late?  _Well yes, silly.  What would Malfoy think?_  Her own wide eyes stared back at her.  Since when did she care what Malfoy thought?

It’s not as if, when they were leaving the coffee shop last week and she had said, “I’ll see you next week, then,” and Malfoy had answered, “I’m looking forward to it,” she had gotten a sudden flutter in her stomach or anything.  

“I did NOT feel fluttery!” she informed her reflection firmly.

And it wasn’t like she’d been thinking about him at all this week.  Oh no.  Really, she hadn’t.

After all, there were plenty of reasons why her concentration had been in tatters, and certainly a logical explanation for lapsing into daydreams whilst wearing a little smile during the staff meeting.  The fact that the reasons and explanations eluded her at the moment was beside the point.

_You’ve been ‘remembering him,’ which is technically different than ‘thinking of him,’ Hermione.  Thinking of him implies that you are entertaining thoughts of him, while remembering merely implies that thoughts of him are crossing your mind._   

She was glad she wasn’t arguing that line of reasoning in front of a judge, since she suspected it would seem rather flimsy under closer scrutiny.

Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool surface of her mirror.  The truth was; images of him had been punctuating her waking moments all week.  A smirk here, an eye-roll there, a sparkle of grey eyes as he chuckled… It was funny, but when the malice and spite that had characterized him in childhood were taken out of the equation, his repertoire of facial expressions was actually rather…nice.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Hermione, pull yourself together!” she admonished herself.  “This is Malfoy we’re talking about!”  

She looked at herself in the mirror again.  “Great!” she muttered, “I’m talking to myself now.  Just bloody great.”

\----- -----

Draco glanced at the clock, more than a little concerned as there were only three minutes until class started.  Where was she?  Not that he was all _that_ concerned.  Not really.  After all, he had plenty of things he could choose to do after class if she didn’t come.  Right.  Plenty of things. 

His head swung around as the door opened, and there she was, flush-faced and breathless, with thirty seconds to spare.  He gave a small wave to catch her eye, and jerked his chin toward the seat next to him that he’d placed his newspaper on.  He was gratified to see her lips tilt into a smile as she mouthed “thanks” to him and made her way to the seat.

Draco glanced sideways at Hermione as the instructor began, and smiled to see that some curly strands of hair had escaped from the twist held in place with decorative pins, and he suspected, a well placed Coiffing Spell.  Her pink face reflected her frustration at her lack of punctuality, although, technically she hadn’t been late.  However, he suspected that since she hadn’t had her parchment and quill out _before_ the instructor had started speaking, Hermione considered herself very tardy indeed.

Flustered and off-balance was a good look on her, he decided.  Maybe he would just help her wear it all evening.

Draco stood up and stretched when the class had ended.  “Cutting it a little close, weren’t you, Granger?” he remarked.

She blew a stray curl off her forehead in annoyance.  “I had a late meeting.  It couldn’t be helped.”  She followed him as he moved for the door.  

He stopped and gestured for her to precede him.  “Did you even get a chance to have any dinner?” he asked.  

Hermione rummaged through her satchel.  “Not really, but I was prepared.”  She pulled out a plastic re-closable bag containing half of a ham sandwich that was looking squashed and rather worse for wear.  

Draco reached for it with his thumb and forefinger and held up the bag, a grimace of distaste across his aristocratic features.  “Merlin, what _was_ this?”

“That is a ham sandwich, and the other half of my dinner!  Give it here, Malfoy.  I’m still hungry… HEY!”

Draco had tossed the sandwich into the nearest rubbish bin as they exited the library.  “Disgusting.”

Hermione stopped on the steps, arms akimbo, and spluttered.  “You just… you just… my dinner!  How dare you?  You just wasted perfectly good food!”

“Granger,” Draco drawled as he crossed his arms over his chest.  “I was just watching out for you.  It was probably spoiled, sitting in your bag all day.  I’m surprised you don’t have food poisoning from the first half you ate, for Merlin’s sake.”  

“Well, _now_ what in the hell am I supposed to do?”

Draco took her elbow.  “Come with me,” he said, as if talking to a four-year-old who was having a tantrum, and he patted her hand.

Hermione dug her heels in and balked.  “Where are we going?”

He rolled his eyes.  “To get you something to eat, of course.”

“But… but… the coffee shop is that way.”

Draco was still using that infuriating tone.  “This may come as a surprise, Granger, but other places serve coffee, too.”  He started to lead her down Diagon Alley.

Hermione angrily pulled her arm from his grip.  “Stop treating me like I’m a child!”  

Draco looked at her and heaved a sigh.  “You don’t deal well with an upset to your routine, do you?” he queried.  “You have a late meeting, you miss your dinner, you get to class with only seconds to spare, and you are a mess.”

“No,” she said nastily, “I don’t deal well with rude men who snatch my dinner away from me and throw it away when I explicitly requested it be returned to me!”

“You’re right.  It was appallingly boorish of me.”  He smiled when her mouth snapped shut in surprise.  “Please allow me to make up for my gaffe by buying you a replacement.”  He gently took her arm again, and this time she made no protest.  Draco walked her several blocks before he steered her toward a small wagon with a brightly colored canopy.  “Do you like Greek?”

To Hermione’s surprise, he stopped at the cart and looked at her hopefully.  “You can’t be serious,” she demanded.  He raised a puzzled brow at her.  “You expect me to believe that you, Draco Malfoy, would eat a meal from a street vendor?”  

Draco shrugged.  “Why not?  I happen to know the owner, and the food is tasty.   Good for a meal on the run.”  There was a challenging glint in his eyes.  “Don’t be such a snob, Granger.”

“Me?  A snob?  Oh that is rich, coming from you!”  But the amused smirk on his face was contagious, and the smells coming from the wagon were delicious… She cocked her head at him.  “Well, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to recommend an entrée to me?”

He grinned.  “Do you like gyros?”  She nodded.  “Oy, Dimitri, two gyros please.”  

Draco led her to a bench where they sat and ate and watched the passersby.  She had just finished her sandwich when he said, “Damn!  I almost forgot.  I’ll be right back.”  He jogged back to the vendor wagon and ordered something else.  Two steaming mugs were handed out to him.  He set them down, and spoke to the vendor again, and this time was handed a small pitcher.  Hermione watched as he added cream to one of the mugs, and stirred before handing the pitcher and spoon back.  He walked carefully back to the bench, and offered her the mug.  “Your coffee, my lady,” he said with a flourish.

She took the mug and thanked him.  She was surprised to find that her heart was beating a little fast.  _He remembered how I take my coffee._  She sipped and smiled to herself.  For all that he’d been an insufferable prat tonight, she had to admit that he knew how to be sweet when he put his mind to it.

_______________________________________________________________________________

_Week 5_

Draco was just muttering a magnifying charm over a piece of fiber he’d plucked off the corpse lying on the exam table when Dennis Creevey came in and politely knocked on the door.  “I’m here to drag you out of the dungeons, Malfoy,” he said pleasantly.  “Potter is requesting you at a crime scene.  Said it was the worst four weeks without you.”

Draco glared at the short, mousy-haired, wiry man who was grinning like he’d just suggested they go to Hogsmeade and buy the entire supply of Droobles Gum at Honeydukes.  He’d followed in his brother’s footsteps and taken up the camera, and had found a niche in crime scene photography for the DMLE.  

“I swear, Creevey, I’m beginning to think Potter has a thing for me or something.” Draco scowled.  “I suppose you are snapping today?”

Dennis held up his camera cheerily.  “Yep.  So put a cooling spell on the stiff already and let’s get a move on.”  He held up a staple remover.

“That’s our port-key?”  Draco waved his wand over the corpse, and washed his hands.  “What is that thing, anyway?  It looks dangerous.”

“I’ll show you how it works some other time,” the smaller man offered.  “Ready?”

\----- -----

The last tracer spell had been completed and Draco leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk, just in time to see Potter push his way gracelessly into the lab.  “Well, Malfoy, I can see by the smug expression on your pointy face that you’ve got something for me.”

“Oh, by all means, Scar-head, just waltz on in, with no regard to the delicate potions or charms work that could have potentially been going on in here,” Draco retorted.  He waved toward the Quick Notes Quill that was finishing the report he’d just dictated.  

Harry picked up the parchment and grunted.  “Perfect.”  He grinned at the blond man.  “Thanks, Ferret.  It’s good to have you back.”

Draco stood and snatched the report out of Harry’s hand.  “Let me make a copy of it, moron, before all your golden shininess destroys it.”  He pulled out a piece of Copying Parchment.  

Harry leaned a hip against the desk.  “A bunch of us are going out for drinks later… think you can make it?”

“Where and when?”  Draco handed him the now-copied parchment.

“The Truculent Swan.  In about an hour.”

Draco took in a breath and let it out.  He glanced at his watch.  He’d have enough time for one drink before his class.  “All right.  I’ll be there.”

Harry paused at the door.  “And just for the record, Malfoy; I do _not_ have a thing for you.”

“It’s just as well, Potter,” Draco smirked obnoxiously.  “I’m way out of your league, anyway!”

\----- -----

“So, how does it feel to be back at work?” Hermione asked Draco as she stirred cream into her cup.  

Draco grimaced.  “Like I’d never left.”  He glanced up at her.  “I was invited to drinks, so I must not be on anyone’s shit-list anymore.”

She lifted her coffee cup in salute and said cheekily, “Congratulations are in order, then!”  Her impish smile made him grin in response.  “And that explains why you were late.”

“Late!”  Draco almost choked on his coffee.  “I had five minutes to spare!  Unlike someone I know who barely skated under the wire with only thirty seconds to go last week.”  Hermione had the grace to blush.  “And thanks for holding a seat for me, by the way,” he added.

“You _should_ thank me, you know.  I had to fight off at least three blokes before you came in.”

Draco’s expression darkened at this news.  “That’s because there are a number of men in that class who want to chat you up, and a seat next to you would have been a coup for them.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

“I’m not being ridiculous,” he said seriously.  “In fact, I’ll wager that the balding guy with the saturnine face was the most persistent.”

Hermione glanced sharply at him.  How had he known that?  And why did he have that stormy look to his eyes?  She laughed a bit nervously.  “Well, I’ll just have to give you points for use of a two-Galleon word like ‘saturnine’ in a sentence.”

A full second passed before Draco’s face creased into a smile.  “How utterly generous of you,” he intoned as he mimicked her salute earlier with his cup.  “But I still am going to make damned sure to get there earlier to claim my seat!”

Hermione wasn’t sure why such a statement should bring about that fluttery feeling in her stomach, or increase her pulse rate, for that matter.  She nearly missed what Draco said next.

“You seem to be in a chipper mood this evening, Granger.  What gives?”

Hermione leaned back into the booth in the quaint coffee shop they had returned to and smirked.  “Oh, only a small victory at the office today,” she replied airily.

“Really?” Draco asked with interest.  “Do tell.”

“I have successfully lobbied for a representative from the DMLE to be present at all sessions in which laws are being drafted to provide consultation on the feasibility of implementing the laws practically,” she explained proudly.  “My boss thought the idea was brilliant.”  She glanced slyly at him.  “And I have you to thank for it.”

Draco’s brows knitted together.  “How is that?”

“The first time we came here.  You said that the laws were made without any consideration on how they would be enforced in the real world.  That’s what gave me the idea that we should collaborate with the DMLE and save everyone a lot of trouble.  So thank you.”

“This calls for celebration!” Draco grinned.  “Shall we split a slice of pie?”

Hermione grinned back.  “Like hell I will!  If I’m going to celebrate, then I’m having a whole piece all to myself!”

Draco inclined his head to her before he waved over the waitress.  “As you wish,” he said gallantly.

_______________________________________________________________________________

**A/N:  I have to credit my dear friend SunnyJune for the idea of Harry and Draco working together in law enforcement.  I lifted it from her wonderfully fluffy story “Masquerade” which I recommend.  Actually, I recommend all of her work highly.**

**I would LOVE to hear your thoughts and comments on this chapter!  Please, please, PUH-LEEZE use that review button.  I will adore you greatly!**


	3. Chapter Three

**Anger Management**

**Chapter Three**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowling’s brilliant characters or anything you find in the HP universe.  I do own a new car, but that is beside the point.  Any characters, coffee shops, side streets off of Diagon Alley, sporting events, forensic potions, art galleries, or other places, people and things that you do not find in JKR’s works, well then you can safely assume they are mine.**

_______________________________________________________________________________

_Week 6_

Hermione glanced at Draco worriedly as he lingered in his seat even after class had ended.  She took in the dark circles under his eyes and his slouched posture.  “Are you feeling all right?” she asked him.

Draco looked up into concerned brown eyes and felt his heart give a lurch.  That look… so like an image in his mind that could have been a memory, or maybe just a dream… _brown eyes; the last thing I saw that day… the day that ended it all…_

“Draco?” her voice was tinged with unease.

He blinked.  It had been a long time since he’d thought of… He felt her hand on his shoulder and smiled at her weakly.  “Sorry.  Just a bit knackered; big case at the DMLE has got me working overtime.”  He leaned back in the seat, spread his arms wide and let out a huge yawn.  Draco snapped his mouth shut as soon as he opened his eyes and realized that Hermione was staring at him.  “What?”

A hint of pink touched Hermione’s cheeks when she realized that what she’d been doing may have been construed by a bystander as ogling.  “Oh, nothing,” she stammered.  Then her brain seemed to remember that she was a sharp-witted lawyer who made her living by thinking quickly on her feet.  She grinned.  “Except that _that_ was the finest example of pandiculation I’ve seen in a long while.”

_Pandiculation,_ he mouthed silently.  He cocked his head.  “Do you hoity-toity barristers get paid more for using the fancy words, Granger?” he asked cheekily.

“Naturally,” she replied, her smile making her eyes crinkle.  “So come on now,” she tapped his shoulder, “on your feet, sleepyhead.  You’re coming with me.”

Draco smiled to himself at her bossy handling, heaved himself to his feet, and followed her out of the library.  “Granger, are you kidnapping me?” he asked when they’d reached the steps.

She turned a conspiratorial grin on him.  “I prefer to call it ‘intervention via abduction,’ Malfoy.” 

He raised his brows at this.  “What, pray tell, is going on in that swotty head of yours?” he demanded.

“You’ve obviously spent way too much time at work, Malfoy.  I think you need a change of scenery.”  She hooked her arm in his and began walking him to an Apparition station.  

Draco didn’t mind playing along as she dangled her intentions tantalizingly in front of him.  “All right, I’ll bite.  What kind of a change in scenery do you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m a little bit hungry for something light, so I’m taking you to my favorite sushi joint.”

Draco almost missed a step.  “You’re taking me to a Muggle place, aren’t you?”

She laughed at his skeptical expression.  “Don’t be such a snob, Malfoy,” she jibed.

_______________________________________________________________________________

_Week 7_

 “Malfoy.”

“Not now, Scar-head.  Can’t you see I’m busy?”  Draco turned the page of his Quidditch magazine.  A Toxicity Assay Potion roiled away in a cauldron near-by.  By the color of the smoke, it had a few more minutes before he could run his tests.

Harry snorted as he took in the blond man’s appearance: feet up on the desk, robes draped over the chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, magazine in hand.  “Yeah.  It’s a real crap job you have down here, isn’t it, Ferret?” he said with a grin.  

Draco snapped the magazine down in exasperation.  “For the love of Merlin, Potter, I should arrest you for your cold-blooded murder of adverbs!”  Draco’s brows knit together in a frown; something about those words reminded him of fiery brown eyes flashing in annoyance…

“…thinking of knocking back a few at that pub again, if you’re interested,” Harry was saying.

Draco pulled himself from the image of ringlets of brown curls straying from a neat bun on a shapely neck… “Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

Harry tossed him a funny look.  “Drinks.  Truculent Swan.  Like a few weeks ago,” he spelled out as if talking to an imbecile.  

Draco shook his head to clear it.  “Oh.”  He thought about Hermione trying to save a seat for him again, and in his mind’s eye all the men in the class were circling her like vultures.  “Sorry.  Can’t.”  At Harry’s quizzical expression he added, “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, Golden Boy, but tonight’s actually not a good night for me.”  He absently thumbed the pages of the magazine.  “I have somewhere I need to be.”

Harry smirked wickedly.  “Well, Ferret, that’s really too bad.  Melinda MacIntyre will be disappointed, I’m sure.”

Draco shot him a look of alarm.  “You mean Maneater Melinda?”  At Harry’s fiendish nod of delight, Draco threw his legs off his desk, stood up and advanced on him.  “What did you tell her, Potter?” he growled menacingly.  

Harry stood his ground, arms across his chest, and laughed.  “Jays, Malfoy, you’re still a conceited git.  What makes you think that the topic of _you_ would even come up during a chat with Melinda?”

Draco raised an eyebrow.  “Funny, Potter.  That is, until I remembered that there is no way you’d ever have the balls to chat up Melinda in the first place!”

Harry cocked an eyebrow in return.  “Balls or no, you are going to spend the rest of the week wondering if I’m yanking your chain,” and he smirked evilly, “…or not.”  

The Toxicity Assay Potion started issuing yellow smoke.  Draco waved Harry out of the lab distractedly.  “Right, right.  I’d love to continue this riveting conversation, Potter, but unlike your lazy arse, I have a job to do here.”

Harry laughed good-naturedly and turned to leave.  “Well, I’ll see you Saturday morning then.”

\----- -----

Strolling up Eatern Alley arm in arm seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do with Hermione Granger.  Draco snorted to himself.  If someone had told him a month and a half ago that this is where he’d be and who he’d be with… he’d have had that person locked up on St. Mungo’s Psychiatric floor.  And yet, here he was, enjoying her company, and he was forced to admit that he enjoyed thinking of her the rest of the time as well.

Hermione interrupted his musings.  “A knut for your thoughts?”

He lifted an eyebrow in mock-hauteur.  “Please, Granger, don’t be insulting.  I’ll have you know that my thoughts are worth much more than that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled.  “Oh, my mistake.  How much do you suggest I offer, then?”

“My thoughts are priceless.”  He ignored her derisive snort.  “But I’m feeling generous tonight, my dear.”

“Oh really?  So what will it cost me for these brilliant thoughts of yours?”

“Just an hour of your company and a piece of pie,” and he punctuated his negotiation with a flourish and a bow.  

Hermione chuckled as Draco opened the door to their favorite shop.

\----- -----

Hermione pushed the plate of pie (today’s special: blueberry) across the table toward Draco.  “Here, you can finish it off.  I can’t eat another bite!”

Draco glanced at her in thanks, and saw a crumb just at the edge of her lip.  “You have a…” he pointed to her face, and then touched his own, “you have a crumb, right there.”

“Oh!”  She grabbed a paper serviette and tried to wipe it away.

“No, you missed it,” he informed her.  “Here, let me…” He took the serviette from her and leaned forward to wipe the spot on her lip gently.  “There, got it.”  He smiled.

Hermione smiled back shyly.  “Um, thanks.”  She felt her face grow warm, and apparently her heart had elected to take up clogging as a new hobby.  She decided that this was a good sign; after all, she’d always enjoyed Irish dancing…

She studied him as he dove back into the pie, and somehow found her nerve to broach the question she’d been hoping to ask.  “Listen, I was wondering…” He looked up, brows raised inquiringly.  “Would you be interested in attending a gallery showing on Saturday?  It’s a fundraiser for an advocacy group I do pro bono work for; proceeds fund legal expenses for anti-discrimination lawsuits.”  She looked at him hopefully.

That she was inviting him to such a function spoke volumes of how much she’d accepted that he had matured from a bigoted snot-nosed kid.  And, Draco realized, quite likely indicated that she had put aside that image of him from her conscious thoughts.  He smiled, pleased at the invitation.  “I’d love to.  What time?”

The delighted expression on her face lit her eyes, and her cheeks seemed to pink with pleasure.  Draco found himself hoping she’d ask him to more fundraisers in the future, just so he could say yes again.  

“Well, it runs from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon, but Ginny and I were going in the morning.”

Disappointment flickered in Draco’s eyes.  “Damn.  I’m sorry, Hermione, but I’ve got a prior commitment in the morning.  I won’t be available till around one o’clock.”

Hermione quirked her lips in thought.  “Well, I suppose I could stop by again in the afternoon.  I really don’t mind.  The gallery is beautiful, and I love to wander through it.  It’s at the Palacio de Cosas Hermosas.  Have you heard of it?”

“The Palace of Beautiful Things,” he translated, “Yes, I’ve heard of it.  Shall I plan to stop by at one-thirty then?”

She ginned in satisfaction, “Brilliant.”  

_______________________________________________________________________________

_Saturday_

Hermione was not used to seeing so many children on broomsticks, and it made her nervous.  She instinctively ducked her head.  Ginny laughed beside her.  “You’ll get used to it, Hermione.  I’ve been to quite a few of these events in the past, and I’ve never had my head knocked off yet.”

Hermione glanced sourly at her friend and reflected on the circumstances that had led her here.

_Hermione stood up from her kitchen table and walked into her living room when she heard the sound of someone flooing her.  “Oh, hullo, Gin.  What’s going on?”_

_“Well, I won’t be able to go to the gallery in the morning Saturday after all,” Ginny began, and she stepped into the room.  “I have to make a public relations appearance at the Pee-Wee Quidditch Regional Semi-Finals in the morning.”_

_Hermione eyed her friend.  Ginny was the most popular player on the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team; her flame-haired good looks, fiery temperament, brilliant flying and overall modesty were lauded even by die-hard fans of other teams.  Which meant the best Chaser the Cannons had had in years was quite in demand.  It was a testament to Ginny’s character that she made it a point to go to the appearances for upstanding or charitable causes._

_“I’m so sorry, Mione,” Ginny was saying.  “But maybe we could go in the afternoon, before it ends?  You know that I want to support you and the things you believe in…” She trailed off as she saw Hermione’s mouth stretch into a grin.  “Hermione?” she said, baffled, “did you hear anything I said?”_

_Hermione gave her friend a big hug.  “Oh Gin, this is perfect!”_

_“Okay… not the response I expected,” Ginny said slowly, “but I prefer this to you getting angry at me!”  She hugged back.  “And I have a splendid idea!  You come with me in the morning, and we’ll have lunch together before we go to the gallery.”_

Ginny tugged at her elbow, leading her to the stands, and said, “There will be three matches, each a different age group.  The youngest will be first.  Oh, look, I see Harry!” Ginny waved madly to catch his attention.

Hermione had to grin at the sight of Harry in his coach’s uniform walking smilingly over to them.  She knew that a number of Aurors and other employees of the DMLE coached Pee-Wee Quidditch as part of their service to the wizarding community.  

“Nice disguise,” Harry commented at Ginny’s long dark coat and knitted cap that effectively covered her conspicuous orange Cannons uniform and equally conspicuous hair.  He turned to Hermione.  “And thanks for wearing red to support the Fulham Falcons today!”  He gestured toward the group of seven- and eight-year-olds in red and white uniforms who appeared to be engrossed in trading sports cards at the moment.  “I think we have a fair shot at making it to the Finals,” he informed the girls proudly.

\----- -----

The opening ceremonies had begun, and Draco watched as the youngest Weasley made an opening speech praising the qualities of Britain’s Pee-Wee Quidditch program, commending the coaches for their selfless dedication of their time and talents, and blah, blah, blah.  Not that he didn’t agree with what the Weaselette had to say; he would just prefer to get on with it.  There was nothing like watching Quidditch being played, even if the teams were pint-sized.  Since he was supposed to be a good role model, he tried not to fidget through the speech.  

To pass the time, he studied Ginny Weasley.  She’d grown up to be quite a lovely woman and was a charismatic public personality.  Too bad the Chudley Cannons uniform clashed so glaringly with her fiery red hair.  His eyes traveled to the black arm-band that was a permanent part of her uniform and part of her legend; she wore it to honor the memory of her fallen brother, just as she had pursued a career with the Cannons in his name.  

Draco had to tear his eyes away; that arm-band caused too many memories to forcibly enter his mind.  He would not think of brilliantly red hair and sickeningly green light—

“Coach?”

Draco’s eyes snapped open to the sight of eager nine- to eleven-year-old faces.

“Look at what they’ve given out to all the players!” Michaela Connelly said excitedly, thrusting a card towards Draco’s face.  “And we can have Weasley sign it after the match!”  

Draco admired the Cannons trading card as expected before gathering them in.  “All right, you lot. I know you have the longest to wait to play your match, but you _are_ the oldest.  The little ones are watching how you behave.  Besides, most of you have younger brothers or sisters playing in the first two matches, so I expect you to cheer them on and show some respect.  Do you know why?”

“Because we’re the Hornets!” said Michaela and her teammates readily.

“And?”

“We are the Hornets: we sting our opponents, but we respect our mates!”

Draco nodded his approval.

“Besides, those six-n-unders are so damned cute!” added Michaela cheekily.

“Language, Connelly!”  Draco wagged a finger at her sternly while trying to suppress a smile.

 ----- -----

Hermione had been amazed at how well the five- and six-year-olds played.  She couldn’t remember ever being that coordinated in kindergarten.  And she had been thrilled at the middle match, which had been close before the Falcons’ seeker had caught the Snitch and secured Fulham’s slot in the Finals.  Harry had sent his ecstatic kids to sit with their parents and joined Ginny and Hermione.  “So what did you think?” he asked her.

“Oh, Harry, it was brilliant!” Hermione’s eyes sparkled.  “It was thrilling, like being at Hogwarts again and watching…”

Hermione trailed off, distracted.  The final match had just been announced (“The Hoxton Hornets versus the Kensington Heights Knights”), and the coaches had met in the center of the pitch to shake hands.  One of the coaches had tell-tale pale blond hair…

Hermione rounded on Harry.  “You never told me that Malfoy coached Pee-Wee Quidditch, too!”

Harry looked genuinely confused.  “I’ve never told you anything about Malfoy, Hermione.  It’s not like he ever comes up in our conversations you know.”

“He doesn’t?” Hermione found that strange, considering that Malfoy seemed to be the topic of much conversation between her and her inner voice lately.

“Hermione, are you feeling all right?”  Harry peered at her anxiously before glancing at Ginny questioningly.  Ginny shrugged.

Hermione didn’t answer.  She sat, engrossed, through the entire final match as the rest of her preconceived notions of Draco Malfoy were shot down like Chasers hit by rogue Bludgers.

\----- -----

Draco stood at the edge of the pitch as screaming athletes and their pleased parents surrounded him, a satisfied and triumphant grin on his face.  The match had been long and he’d been able to rotate all his players through, and they’d done him proud.  The Hornets were going to the Finals.

Eventually, he shooed the kids toward the center of the pitch where the Cannons star Chaser was signing autographs, grinning as they chanted, “Hox-ton Hor-nets!  Hox-ton Hor-nets!” all the way there.  He glanced at his watch.  He’d have to leave soon if he was to get cleaned up and make it to the gallery on time.  As he hurried past the stands, he heard his name, and turned.  

Potter was leaning over the rail, hand outstretched.  “Your Hornets were looking bloody brilliant out there today, Ferret.”

Draco stepped toward him and smacked his hand into a strong handshake.  “And your Falcons tore up the pitch themselves, I daresay, Scar-head,” he replied amicably.  “My only regret is that this means I will have to see your ugly mug again _next_ Saturday.”

Harry released his hand and smirked.  “I know.  It’s amazing what we are willing to put up with for the sake of these kids, isn’t it?”

But Draco was no longer listening.  His attention was arrested by a face surrounded by tousled brown curls held back with a red headband that matched a red jumper…  And of all the things that he could have thought, should have thought, in that moment, he was almost annoyed that the one that came to mind first was: _Guess Granger is going to be late to the gallery, too._

Harry’s gaze shifted back and forth several times between his friend and his co-worker.

“Malfoy.”

“Granger.”

“So, Pee-Wee Quidditch, huh?”

Draco shrugged gracefully.  “Just my way of contributing to society, Granger; you know, molding young minds and bodies into future athletes and model citizens.”  

“You.  Molding young children.  The thought terrifies me.”

Draco jerked a thumb in Harry’s direction.  “Well someone needs to be a role model of refinement and social graces when we’ve got the likes of Potter here doing most of the coaching.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “This from the man who puts ketchup on his sushi.”

Harry interrupted testily, “Excuse me.  Did I miss something here?”

_______________________________________________________________________________

_Week 8_

Hermione’s eyes drifted across the booth to take in the blond who was relaxed into the seat, a smug tilt to his lips. “What’s that look for?” she wondered.

He flicked his grey eyes, full of mischief, to her face.  “Just fondly remembering the expressions on Scar-head’s and the Weaselette’s faces last Saturday.”

Hermione giggled into her coffee.  “I know.  You’d have thought they were accusing us of having some torrid affair or something.”  The awkward silence from across the booth caused Hermione to pink.   “I mean, the way they carried on about it,” she added hastily.

Draco cleared his throat.  “You know, I could see those two thinking that something as banal as having coffee and a bite to eat was torrid.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t read more into her comment than she’d meant.  She hadn’t meant anything, really, had she?  She took a deep breath to regain her equilibrium.  She sipped her coffee for a few moments.

Finally, her sense of humor took pity on her hammering heart and roiling emotions and engaged her mouth.  “Well, I suppose your passion for pie could be considered rather licentious,” she said, grinning wickedly.  

“Ha!  That from the hussy who can’t keep her fork off my plate!” he accused laughingly.

She wriggled her eyebrows and scooped up a large bite of key lime with her fork.  “You know you love it,” she purred coyly.

His eyes followed the path of the fork from his plate to her mouth before meeting her eyes.  He felt a strange twinge in his chest.  “Actually, I enjoy the company even more than I do sharing my pie,” he said softly, never letting his gaze waver.

She blushed deeply and dropped her eyes as she chewed and swallowed.  When she’d regained her composure, she looked at him again.  “I suppose that means we’ll be doing this again next week?”

Draco let his brows come together.  “Sweet Merlin, Hermione,” he said, “maybe Potter and Weasley were right.  Maybe the two of us are engaging in…” he paused dramatically before stage-whispering, “a torrid _habit_!”

Hermione’s laugh rang out.  Draco’s laugh joined in as he scooped up another bite of pie and offered the fork to her.

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**A/N:  pandiculation: the act of stretching and yawning**

**That word is in there because of a little challenge Miss Lorett (the same damned-fabulous Lorett that I am writing this for) threw at me one day.  I mean, come on.  She practically double-dog-dared me to try to use it in a story.  I HAD to put it into HER story, now didn’t I?**

**A thousand thank-yous to all the wonderful people who left reviews!  I hope this chapter did not disappoint.  Please feel free to let me know if it did… or didn’t.  I crave reviews like Pee-Wee Quidditch players crave a genuine autographed Ginny Weasley Chudley Cannons trading card!**


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